I FOUND THE BAG UNDER SARAH’S BED AND IT WASN’T HERS
My hands were shaking as I pulled the dusty duffel bag out from under her mattress. It wasn’t her style, smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke, which isn’t Sarah at all. The weight felt wrong, too – not clothes, but something dense against the thin canvas. I told myself I was being silly, just tidying, but my gut screamed otherwise.
I carried it to the living room, needing more light, the cheap plastic handle digging into my palm. Unzipping it felt like pulling a thread that would unravel everything. The metal zipper scraped loudly as I pulled it open, my heart starting a frantic rhythm. Inside wasn’t clothes, but stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills wrapped tightly, alongside a worn leather notebook.
Disbelief made the room feel distant as I stared at the money, before my eyes settled on the worn leather notebook. I picked it up, its cover cool under my trembling fingers, and flipped through the pages filled with dates, times, locations, and cryptic initials. Then I saw it – a familiar name written over and over again, not hers. When Sarah walked in, keys jingling, she stopped dead and I held up the open notebook, my voice barely a whisper, “What… who is this, Sarah?”
Her face drained of color, her eyes wide and darting frantically between the notebook and the open bag. “It’s not what you think, please,” she whispered, rushing forward to snatch the book, shoving the bag back under the sofa. “You weren’t supposed to find that. Ever.” Her voice was thin, desperate, nothing like her usual calm, and it chilled me.
But then I saw the name scribbled on the last page: Officer Miller.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My breath hitched. “Officer Miller? Sarah, what is going on?” My voice was louder now, laced with fear. The room felt suddenly smaller, the weight of the money in the bag under the sofa a suffocating presence. An officer? The name repeated in my head, a discordant note against everything I knew about her.
Sarah squeezed the notebook tightly, her knuckles white. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “He… he found out something about me,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “Something from years ago, something stupid I did. He said if I didn’t do exactly what he told me, he’d… he’d ruin me. He’d make sure I lost everything.”
My mind raced. Something from years ago? Sarah had always been so careful, so by-the-book. “What did he make you do, Sarah? Is this… is this his money?” I gestured towards the sofa, my gaze fixed on her terrified face.
She nodded, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. “Yes. It’s… it’s money he needs held. Sometimes I have to deliver things. The notebook is… it’s just me trying to keep track, trying to understand what he’s doing, hoping I could find something… anything… to stop him.” She looked utterly broken, the strong, independent woman I knew replaced by someone trapped and desperate.
“He’s been doing this for months,” she whispered, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Threatening me, making me terrified to say anything. He watches me. I thought if I just did what he said, eventually he’d leave me alone, but it just gets worse.” She sank onto the arm of the sofa, her body trembling. “You weren’t supposed to find out. I didn’t want you involved. He said if I ever told anyone…” She trailed off, her eyes wide with unspoken fear.
Looking at the sheer terror in her eyes, the pieces clicked into place – the sudden unexplained absences, the jumpiness, the way she flinched at loud noises lately. It wasn’t just stress from work; it was this. Blackmail. By a police officer. The crisp bills and the cryptic notebook suddenly weren’t just a mystery; they were evidence of a nightmare she was living.
My initial shock gave way to a fierce wave of protectiveness. Officer Miller. I felt a cold anger building. He had been terrorizing her. This had gone too far. I knelt in front of her, taking her trembling hands in mine. “Hey,” I said softly, trying to project calm I didn’t feel. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore. We’ll figure this out.”
She looked at me, her eyes searching my face. “But… how? He’s a police officer. Who do we even go to?”
“We go to the people who investigate corrupt police officers,” I said firmly, my grip tightening on her hands. “Internal Affairs. We’ll take the bag, the notebook… it’s proof, Sarah. It’s evidence. It’s risky, I know, but keeping this secret, living like this… that’s not living. We face him. Together.” The fear was still there, a knot in my stomach, but seeing her so vulnerable, so broken, solidified my resolve. We couldn’t let this man destroy her life. We had to fight back.